


Oceans and Streams

by writesometimes



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Angst, Emotionally Frustrated Pirates, M/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-20
Updated: 2016-10-20
Packaged: 2018-08-23 16:01:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8333734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writesometimes/pseuds/writesometimes
Summary: "Captain, we really must talk," Silver called through the only surface presently shielding him from Flint's ire. The sound of silence rang forth from the room. Silver shifted his weight, enduring unspeakable pain waiting for some sort of acknowledgment. The sound of the door unlocking was all he got.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Set a short time after the S2 finale

The moon glowed brightly in the ink black sky, illuminating the smoldering settlement on the shore. Silver watched the destruction unfold from the deck of the _Walrus_. He watched with hesitation as the crew's third raid unfolded. Their third raid since Charlestown, since he lost his leg, since the Captain lost _Miranda_. With every raid, Flint's rage grew. His utter contempt for mankind itself became more and more exposed with every passing night. And Silver worried more and more with every passing night.  


Flint was seemingly unhinged, taking bigger risks with every raid. His blood lust growing, all hidden menacingly behind that scarf wrapped around his head. Silver exhaled shakily as he listened to the sounds of broken lives calling out from the settlement. How many people had paid the ultimate price for Flint's outrage tonight? How many more had no idea their days were limited, until Flint spied their town from the _Walrus_?  


Finally, Silver had his fill of the chaos and turned away from the shoreline. This couldn't continue. They were losing crew members, taking unnecessary risks. They were being led by a man undone. It was Silver's duty now to take a stand. To challenge Flint. He exhaled deeply and stared up into the star blanketed sky. A loud shriek from the settlement startled him and he slipped, unsteady on his new iron boot.  


Silver stared down at the false leg. They'd all lost something that day in Charlestown, gotten a shit deal, he understood. But this madness of Flint's was threatening to consume them all. He hobbled carefully to the stairs that led below deck."Tell me when the Captain returns please," he said to DeGroot before disappearing below deck.

* * *

Flint cut down the last man on the beach with cold efficiency. He and the rest of the raiders climbed into the launch boats to make their way back to the _Walrus_. He sat facing the shore, watching the aftermath of his fury shrink into the distance as the men rowed. His face showed no emotion, he barely breathed. Anger had consumed him, so his anger would consume the world.  


A hearty pat on his shoulder summoned Flint from his agitation. "Good show, Captain," a voice chuckled in the dark. Flint turned and looked over his shoulder. Hal Gates stared back at him, fucking grinning. Flint squeezed his eyes shut, fighting the sob that wanted so desperately to pry itself from his lips. No matter how much violence he partook in, ghosts still mocked him.  


Flint didn't respond to the crewman, couldn't, he just stared ahead once more, watching flames consume another settlement. He'd destroy every bit of British fucking soil if he could only live long enough to do it.  


The launch reached the _Walrus_ and the crew re-boarded eagerly, no doubt seeking a crowd to spin the tale of their endeavor to and a little rest. Flint hauled himself on deck, eyes sweeping over the crew but unable to see any faces. His vision blurred and he listed to the side but quickly righted himself. He was drained, yet his blood pulsed in his veins. He needed the quiet solitude of his cabin, needed to recover. Flint needed to mourn in peace.

* * *

DeGroot slipped below deck and informed Silver of the Captain's return. With a heavy sigh, Silver swung his legs over the edge of the hammock he'd been resting in. He wondered bitterly just how long it would take for the phantom throbbing in his amputated limb to subside. He screwed his eyes shut as he prepared to put weight on the damn iron boot. It took every ounce of strength Silver contained to mask the agony of the wound.  


It took him some time, but eventually Silver found himself on deck. The sky still pitch black, stars watching silently from the heavens. They'd already set sail again. Silver stared off at the shore, watching as they put distance between themselves and Flint's retribution. Silver heard a group of men chuckling off near the main mast and headed over to see what could possibly be entertaining at the moment.  


"So he looks the fucker in the eye and asks him again where the magistrate lives. Guy won't talk. So Flint cracks him in the nose with the butt of his pistol and tells him 'Hope being England's bitch gets you a favorable spot in hell.' Wasn't long after that some asshole laid out the entire settlement for us!"  


Quiet laughter bubbled up once again from the crowd. Silver swallowed thickly, trying not to choke on his own hysteria. He had to put a stop to this. The men were placated for now with something to do, prizes to take from the filthy hands of the bastards who'd labeled them unfit to be human, but sooner or later they would tire. Of the relentless raids, the losses of their brothers, the frivolity of their prizes. They'd tire of slaying Flint's demons for him.  


Slowly, Silver made his way to Flint's door. For the first time in a long time, he found himself truly and completely afraid of the man on the other side. He didn't feel like there was any way to fast talk himself out of danger now if the Captain decided to direct his anger at his new Quartermaster. Still, he had a duty, he must speak up. He couldn't let Flint delve fully into this madness.  


Quietly, he rapped his knuckles on the door. "No" was all Flint barked from inside. Silver knocked again, louder. He was sure he heard something being thrown across the room. "Captain, we really must talk," Silver called through the only surface presently shielding him from Flint's ire. The sound of silence rang forth from the room. Silver shifted his weight, enduring unspeakable pain waiting for some sort of acknowledgment. The sound of the door unlocking was all he got.

* * *

Silver entered the Captain's quarters apprehensively, aware of every thud his iron boot made across the floor. Flint strode to his desk, irritation flowing off of him, filling the room. He turned slowly and faced Silver, leaning back against the desk.  


"What do you want?" he asked his Quartermaster in a clipped tone. Silver stopped in his tracks. Flint's entire face looked different, haunted by the ghosts of Charlestown.  


"Captain, as the Quartermaster of this crew I feel it's my duty to voice concern over these raids. We're taking unnecessary risks. We'll lose men. We can't afford to keep this up." Silver swallowed dryly awaiting a reply.  


Flint's lips became a tight line. Silver could sense the change from irritation to rage in his Captain. Flint was silent, staring at Silver, almost through him. "Have the men complained to you?" he asked harshly.  


Silver looked about the room nervously. "No. Not yet. I'm trying to prevent that. They will get tired though. They will lose valuable crewmen, brothers. Eventually they will complain."  


"I'm still the fucking Captain here. You're my Quartermaster. And you've done your job, voicing concern for the crew, but my word is the final one aboard this ship." Flint stared icily at Silver, waiting for a response.  


Silver felt his own irritation build. This man was going to drag them all into hell with him if he continued down this path. Silver sighed deeply. This moment, his whole world, was slipping through his fingers. "I'm trying to prevent a fucking mutiny from unfolding in your very near future. In case you've forgotten, not all the men on this ship are your biggest supporters."  


Flint physically reacted to that, standing quickly to full height and walking over to Silver. He studied his Quartermaster carefully. His eyes were wild, but he contained himself. He was ready to match Flint in all aspects tonight it seemed.  


"You're the only man here who's talked about a mutiny since we started these raids. Perhaps I should be worried about _you_ ," Flint spat out acrimoniously. Silver actually had the audacity to laugh. Flint balled his fists at his sides.  


"They won't be content forever. I'm trying to _help_ you!" Silver countered heatedly.  


Flint drew in a deep breath. "Why?" he demanded quietly.  


"Because you're the fucking Captain! We can't endure a mutiny right now! We can't-" before Silver could finish, Flint cut him off. "There is no _we_ , goddamnit. _I'm_ the Captain. The crew's attitude toward me is _my_ problem. A mutiny is _my_   _fucking problem_." He loomed over Silver, fully in his personal space now.  


Silver stared back defiantly into Flint's eyes. He saw it, for a split second, the turmoil the man carried with him now. "Captain," he whispered, "I don't blame you for wanting this. For needing this... release. To claim your vengeance. But I can't let you recklessly endanger the lives of every crewman because of it."  


Flint closed his eyes, breathed slowly. Silver's ability to read him made Flint simultaneously irate and intrigued. There was far more to this man than met the eye, more than Flint would probably ever come to know. But there wasn't time to think about that. He was seething with anger for this man right now.  


"We are not going back to Nassau. I am not done, and until the men see fit to start a mutiny, I'm giving the orders. You and I will have no problems unless I come to believe you're stoking resentment among the crew. Are we clear?" Flint asked dangerously.  


Silver raised his head in a silent challenge of the Captain. "I won't let you destroy yourself in pursuit of your revenge," he whispered darkly. It almost felt a confession of sorts. That he wasn't just here for the crew's well-being tonight.  


Flint immediately stepped out of Silver's space. He looked at his Quartermaster with contempt. Who the hell was Silver to assert himself Flint's new caretaker? Why was this so important to him?  


The sound of waves lapping at the sides of the _Walrus_ became a loud roar in the silence that had settled between the men. It almost felt as though the room had shrunk around them in an attempt to consume them in this moment. It was unnerving. Silver moved to take a step toward Flint and the Captain raised his hand, stopping him.  


Silver wanted to scream at him. Wanted to break down in frustrated tears. He was in so much pain, so tired, and he just desperately wanted this all to be over now. He studied Flint carefully. The man's anger was evident, but it was what lurked beneath, the confusion, that caught Silver's attention. He was confused and distrustful of Silver for expressing _concern_ over him. If he wasn't so bitter over their latest exchange it would have shattered something fragile within Silver's chest.  


He wanted to break the silence that had walled them in but for once didn't know what to say. Finally, Flint moved. He walked briskly past Silver, shirt sleeve brushing the Quartermaster's coat. "We're done," he said throwing the door open.  


Silver nodded once and turned slowly. As he hobbled through the door he watched his steps carefully. Flint said nothing as he passed by him. Silver stood back out on the deck beneath the darkness and those ever-watching stars and turned to look at Flint. The Captain just slammed the door to his quarters.  


Silver's shoulders slumped. Giving a shit about anyone outside of what they could provide him was an unusual sensation for the Quartermaster, and yet here he was. Giving a shit about Flint. Wishing he could save the man from himself. He wasn't sure how to process the feeling, so he just stood there rooted to the spot. Staring at the door that separated him from the only man he'd ever truly been concerned about.  


**Author's Note:**

> The scene early in S3 when Flint comes back aboard the Walrus after a raid and Silver *worries* about him wouldn't leave me alone so I scrawled this out. Sincerely hope you enjoyed it :)
> 
> Title is from the Black Keys' "Oceans and Streams"
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](http://imwritesometimes.tumblr.com/)


End file.
